


Untoward Circumstances

by hannah_jpg



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/hannah_jpg
Summary: A man breaks into Meduseld in the dead of night, and Théodwyn does her best.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a prequel to Brego's Mistress; you'll notice that Alfrida makes an appearance! Sources vary on whether Théoden and Théodwyn were the only children of Thengel and Morwen - I prefer the account where they have three other sisters. Of course, I've only put in one. And there are only so many names that can begin with "Théod" in a family without everyone getting dang darned confused. Anyway. Hope you enjoy this exceptionally silly story. One of my favorite movies is How to Steal a Million with Audrey Hepburn and Peter O'Toole, and if you've seen it you will definitely know where I've blatantly ripped it off, hehe. Written back in 2015.

Théodwyn grunted, and with a final heave forced herself through the open window. She threw her hands in front of her to break her fall, and grunted again as her rear end plummeted forward, and after a spectacular summersault, she landed on her back on the cool stone floor. She bit back a groan, knowing she would likely be bruised before the day broke.

But there was nothing for it, really, even as exciting as a story it would have made; she could not have told it to anyone apart from Alfrida, who in fresh youthfulness had acceded to Théodwyn’s desire for secrecy. She picked herself up, already decided to wake her younger sister for a full account of the night’s events and brushing the dust uselessly from her already filthy outfit. If her actions were not scandalous enough, her garb certainly would be. Her mother had forbidden trousers years ago, it was only a stroke of luck that she had been able to pilfer the necessary from Théodred, who had gone through a growth spurt in the past several months and had clothes to spare.

The smell of drying onions from above her head was becoming offensive, and without any further musings Théodwyn crept to the door of the kitchen, feeling her away around tables, chairs, and work surfaces. It would be some hours yet until the servants of Meduseld began the breakfast preparations, but the cook was of such a perspicacious nature that she would notice if anything had been budged out of place - and would certainly inform the king. Then Théodwyn’s nightly outings would be abolished for good.

She put her ear to the door, listening for approaching guards. There were none, and with a sigh of relief she opened the creaking door and put her foot into the hallway. The soft-footed boots she wore made no noise, and feeling confident, she started towards the royal living quarters, stifling a yawn.

A faint, shuffling noise made her pause. The corridor was quite dark, but Théodwyn had always boasted fantastic hearing, and she felt her heart skip a beat when the sound came again.

If it were a guard, he would not be muffling his steps, which seemed to be the case here. There were no live-in servants at Meduseld, and unless her mother had requested companionship or some special duty (which you could never tell with Morwen), it would not be a servant either. Ever curious, Théodwyn turned on her feet and walked back in the direction of the hall, stopping at the entrance to peek at whatever had made the disturbance.

To her astonishment and causing her heart to suddenly pound very fast, there was a dark shadow - and a rather large one at that. It was moving about near the glowing embers of the hearth, though the light was not enough for her to see it face. It was all very suspicious, especially as she watched the figure move towards an old tapestry on the wall and began to fondle it, as if looking to remove it from its fastenings.

A thief! Théodwyn bit back a snarl, moving soundlessly back into the shadows and into the corridor, where she knew for a fact there hung several ornamental swords (an ancestor had been obsessed with such trinkets, and for the first time, she found herself thankful to have such eccentrics in her family). Fumbling along the stone wall, the tips of her finger met cool metal, and holding her breath, she lifted an irrationally heavy blade from its placement.

The thief was evidently very absorbed in his thieving, for he did not notice her approach and so jumped when she lifted the blade to where she estimated his head would be. He brought the loosed tapestry up to his nose, obscuring most of his face.

“Put it back!” she hissed. “And I will call the guards!”

There was a little bit of moonlight from the shafts in the ceiling, thankfully open for the summer. It struck the figure’s face into pale relief, and a pair of wide hazel eyes stared down at her in surprise before crinkling at the corners. “Do ye not mean…put it back,  _ or _ ye will call the guards?” It was a low, deep voice, and Théodwyn felt her cheeks flush as she realized there was no small amount of amusement in the voice as well.

“Certainly not,” she said. “I mean,  _ and _ . Whether you are a successful burglar or not, you deserve to be punished for it.” The creases about his eyes deepened, and with a surge of irritation she realized that underneath his unkempt beard he was smiling!

“Do ye know how to use a blade, lass?” he asked.

“Er - yes! My, er - father taught me when I was a girl.” The blade was trembling, and Théodwyn brought her other hand to the hilt to steady it. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

It was the man’s turn to pause. “Er - ” he said. “Burglaring.”

She sniffed. “You are not very good at it, are you?”

“If I was, would ye be here asking me?”

It was a fair point, but she was not about to be drawn into a debate by a thief. “Put it back,” she repeated.

“If I do, will ye agree not to call the guards?” His eyes were still smiling warmly at her, and she flushed in annoyance.

“No!”

“Then perhaps I will keep it, and take me chance with them. Clearly yer not to be reasoned with.”

Théodwyn gaped. “You wouldn’t!”

“Burglars are desperate types, you know.” Despite the jesting, the man was already lowering the tapestry, and with a roguish smile, he tossed it towards a nearby table, missing his target completely. She stared after the tapestry, and then sensing the man shying away, she jabbed the sword closer to his neck, which she could see much better now. He lifted his hands hastily into the air, eyeing her warily. “I have left the tapestry,” he said, the perfect image of calm. “Will ye not please, let me leave without calling the guards? It would get rather awkward, do ye not think? Questions about how ye came to find me in the first place, why a princess was wandering about in the dark of the night with a strange man -”

“How do you know who I am!” she accused, gripping the sword tighter.

“Why - everyone does. Yer the sister of the king!”

Théodwyn flushed again, and then realized he was right. There  _ would _ be awkward questions, and Bema knew she did not want to answer any of them. “Very well,” she said, starting to lower the sword. “I will not tell if you - ”

He yelped, and she jumped back and dropped the sword. He was holding a hand to his right arm - was there red? Was he  _ bleeding _ ? Her mouth fell open in horror. “Look what ye’ve done now, lass,” he growled. “Ye’ve gone and cut me!”

“Oh no!” she gasped, rushing towards the man as he fell to his knees, holding her hands out awkwardly in the direction of the wound. The sword fell from her grip, but was muffled by the fallen tapestry. She could not see any blood, but he was holding to his arms rather tightly after all. “I did not mean to!” she insisted. “It was an accident - ”

He was looking at her with a strange expression, and when she met his eyes he groaned. “It’ll be the death of me, lass,” he managed. “Tell me ma I loved her, and that I never was a thief, no matter what ye say…tell her it was quick, that I did not suffer needlessly - ”

“Shut it!”

The man obliged, and thinking fast, Théodwyn decided that the best course for the securing of her own safety, she ought to help him out of the hall as soon as possible. “Come with me,” she whispered, and helped him to stand. He leaned heavily on her as they tramped through the hall, and as several minutes passed until they reached the kitchens, she did begin to wonder if he was dragging his feet on purpose.

He sat, keeping up his pretense of moaning in pain, while Théodwyn rummaged around to light a candle before fetching clean water and a cloth to tend to the wound. She peeled back the stained cloth around the wound, frowning. It was not nearly as bad as the thief was making it seem, and her opinion of him rather plummeted. As if it had been great to begin with.

“Wha’s that?” he asked, eyeing the small bottle she uncorked before dampening a cloth with its contents.

“Pure spirits,” she said, rather enjoying the way he visibly cringed.

“Och, now, I may have been overreacting a bit - I will take my leave - ”

Théodwyn pushed him back into the chair, and gripping his arm firmly, pressed the spirits onto the wound. He groaned, and this time he was not faking. After a few moments he stopped making noise, though his eyes were squeezed shut. She dabbed the wound once more before cleaning it with fresh water.

“Tha’s more like it,” he muttered.

“Alcohol helps wounds to heal better,” she informed him. “Unless you wanted your arm to turn green and fall off - well, if you are so inclined, I can cut you again. Bema knows the last time that sword was cleaned, anyway!”

His hazel eyes narrowed, and Théodwyn smothered a blush. Most men were disinclined to look at her so fearlessly; having a brother for a warrior king seemed to cool most passions. She tried hard not to think of the thief’s arm, which was now looking very nice, tan and muscled, as she wrapped a bandage around it. And though his beard needed a very severe trim - it did not quite hide the strong chin which wore it.

“You ought to climb out this window,” she said, pointing towards the very  one she had entered before wiping her hands on a spare bandage.

“I suppose I’ve gone and overstayed my welcome, eh?” The twinkle in his eyes was back, and acting more resolutely than she felt, Théodwyn scowled and reached for the bottle of spirits and its cork. “Wait!” At her pause, the man picked up the bottle and took a sip - or rather, a very long drink, before he handed it back to her. “I shall always remember the hospitality of Meduseld,” he grinned at her disbelief before standing, towering over her, and, she thought, standing rather close. She could smell the unfamiliar musk of him, feel the brush of his cloak against her legs, and see very faint freckles across his straight nose and disappear into his beard. She could even hear him breathe in, which sounded far more ragged than it should have, all things considered, but before she could consider them further his face lowered and her gasp was captured by his mouth.

_ Was he kissing her? _ He was kissing her!

“Perhaps I’ll see ye again, little princess.” With her mouth still hanging open, the man lifted her chin ever so slightly, and Théodwyn snapped her teeth together. But before she could open her lips once more, to give this thief the scolding of his life - at least, that is what she intended - he was already at the window, wrenching it open and putting a leg though. She received one last cheeky smile, which she nearly returned (on pure instinct), and the fluttering cloak disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

Théodwyn held tight to Alfrida’s arm, her younger sister clearly as uneasy as she herself. This marked the first time that Théoden had not accompanied them to an obviously political function, and she could have detested him for it.

Gossip had reached Edoras several days earlier of the current Marshal at Aldburg disappearing under rather mysterious circumstances. Théoden had ridden to Aldburg immediately, putting a new Marshal in place before riding directly to Helm’s Deep, where he had previously arranged to spend Yule with his son. But not before sending a missive to his sisters, who had thought to spend the holiday at home, and direct them to instead show their respect for the new Marshal by attending at Aldburg. Normally Théoden was a lenient king and a kind brother, and perhaps it was because of this that Théodwyn felt herself boiling with mutiny. She did not want to be in this unfamiliar hall, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and doing pretty politics. She wanted to be home, sleeping in her own bed!

“The drapes are dusty,” Alfrida whispered. “Whoever this new marshal is, he needs a better housekeeper.”

“Are you volunteering?” Théodwyn teased, trying for humor despite the circumstances. “I think he might be quite the catch! See how the young girls are blushing all over the place.”

Alfrida rolled her eyes at this, but color flushed her cheeks as well. Théodwyn began to prepare herself for a more amusing night than she had originally anticipated, even smiling as a lord of Snowbourne made his greetings to herself and her sister.

Though the hall was much smaller than Meduseld, it held a good many people. Already it seemed to be growing warm quickly, despite the dancing not having begun yet. Supper was to be served at the midnight hour as Yule officially began, and likely dancing would continue again until dawn, and the toasting of the first sunrise of the new year. Normally these celebrations were extremely enjoyable for Théodwyn, but with her brother and nephew elsewhere the fun was likely to be significantly diminished.

Théodwyn watched dully as a pair of soldiers stationed themselves on the dais, presumably to introduce the new marshal. “I hope he is as ugly as a boar,” she whispered to her younger sister. “For I wish to be amused by all the ladies flirting with -”

Her voice caught in her throat as she saw a head above the others in the hall, ascending the steps before surveying the hall with twinkling hazel eyes. And there was no doubt - they sought out hers and a grin beamed out to her.

She swore.

"Théodwyn!” Alfrida hissed.

“Fellow countrymen!” A great voice boomed through the hall. “And women. Ye do myself and my home a great honor by attending tonight. I do no’ like to waste words - so content yerselves with these: be merry and dance!”

There were many cheers following this short speech, but Théodwyn was gritting her teeth together. The burglar! How could he possibly be the new Marshal? Intrigue and criminal activity, no doubt. Perhaps she could escape from the party after all; her brother needed to be informed of -

 The burglar/Marshal had descended into the crowd and made straight for Théodwyn and Alfrida, which Théodwyn had watched with her temper rising. He bowed to them, which she barely returned. She did notice Alfrida was red in the face, though. “Esteemed ladies, I am most grateful to Théoden King for sending such a lovely emissary to my little party tonight.” He leaned in towards them conspiringly, and further whispered, “I do no’ think such pretty women have graced this hall since my mam’s time!”

He was exactly as Théodwyn remembered: flirtatious to a fault, impudent, impolite… and tall, freckled and uncommonly attractive. The rich forest-colored velvets he wore complimented his looks far more than the ragged cloak he had worn in Meduseld. Dimly, Théodwyn heard Alfrida reply over the sound of the music beginning for the dancing.

“Was your mother the lady here?” Her traitor of a sister asked in interest.

“Aye,” he said gravely. “The first wife of Éofur, she was. The second was no’ so handsome as my own mam, of course.”

“That seems a matter of bias to me,” Théodwyn cut in.

“Perhaps,” the man’s cheeky grin returned. “Or perhaps I’ve an eye for beauty, as they say.”

Théodwyn could feel a tick in her cheek as she tried to rein in her anger.

“But I am forgetting my manners! I came to ask a princess for a dance,” he said, his smile widening. Théodwyn opened her mouth, preparing a scathing set-down, when he turned to Alfrida. “Will ye be my leading partner, lass?”

Fire burned up Théodwyn’s neck as she watched the Marshal take her smiling sister’s hand and direct her to the floor. Many other couples were joining them now, and she lost sight of them quickly. Just as well, for she was ready to tear the man apart with her fingernails! The son of Éofur, indeed. Such drivel - how could these people be taken in by him so? And her own brother as well!

A young rider appeared before her, studying her face with some trepidation, and some interest. “Princess Théodwyn, would you -”

"Yes,” she said shortly, taking his proffered arm and allowing herself to be swept into the dancers as well. Her partner seemed somewhat discomfited, but that did not stop his flow of conversation.

“I intended to introduce myself first, my lady. I am Himlas, son of Dirlas.”

“It is gracious of you to ask me for a dance, Himlas,” Théodwyn said, sneaking a look over her shoulder at her sister, who was laughing at something the burglar had said. “Are - are you stationed here at Aldburg, Himlas?” she asked, not having to feign any interest as a plan wormed into her mind.

“Indeed, my lady, I -”

"I am most curious, who is the new Marshal?”

“You do not know?” he asked in surprise. “He made himself very familiar to yourself and your sister, I would have expected -”

"He had never done the courtesy,” she growled. “What is his name?”

“Éomund, eldest son of Éofur. His father was Marshal, before the title passed to the younger son -”

"But why would the title pass to the younger son?” Théodwyn interjected. “Since…Éomund is clearly competent.”

Himlas missed her sarcasm. “That is something I cannot answer, my lady,” he said. “I was not private to the details of the scandal.”

Scandal! Naturally, nothing less would bring about the installation of a burglar as the king’s marshal.

“Princess, is there something bothering you?”

“No!” she said. “I mean - thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly well.”

The rider was obviously unconvinced, but he seemed to lack the verve to breech the topic further, and they lapsed into silence. Théodwyn continued to glare daggers whenever Alfrida and the new Marshal whirled into view. “Thank you for the dance,” she told Himlas shortly as the dance ended, taking her leave of him very politely despite her ire. Composing her features into something she thought very imperious, Théodwyn stalked through the crowd and clenched her sister’s arm just as Alfrida was curtseying to the marshal.

“I do thank you for a lovely dance, Lord Éomund,” Alfrida was saying. “But I do -”

"Come, Alfie,” Théodwyn cut in, refusing to meet the marshal’s piercing gaze. “There is a lord here who wishes to speak to us on an important matter -”

"Aye, and it is I,” the marshal interrupted. “Princess Théodwyn, I must beg your hand for the next dance.”

“Then you beg in vain.”

“Théodwyn!” Alfrida pulled her arm away from her sister. “Do be polite, Lord Éomund has done nothing to warrant such rudeness.”

“That can be debated,” Théodwyn said, scowling with all her might.

“Dance with me anyway, lass,” Lord Éomund said, taking her hands and grinning. “Then ye can rail at me for my indiscretions as ye so desire.”

She had no time to flee, for the music had already begun and Alfrida had actually pushed her towards the man! Théodwyn gritted her teeth, and then breathed deeply as she attempted a calm smile. “You should not fear my railing,” she said smoothly. “But the reaction of my brother when he discovers that you attempted to burgle his house.”

Not a since ounce of worry crossed Lord Éomund’s face. He merely continued to grin as his hand tightened on her waist. “Perhaps, but I would also be most interested in the reaction of yer brother if he were to know of your nighttime escapades.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Ye seem to be hot, princess. Might I escort ye outside for a spot of fresh air?”

This Théodwyn allowed, for she did so want to shout at him! She tried not to notice the interested stares of the other guests as he led her towards the dim garden, which was lit only by a few cursory torches. The night was cold, but the warmth of her anger kept her from feeling it. Had she less control, the spiky rose bushes might have been kicked over in her wrath. Nay, only the Marshal’s shins were in danger from her feet now, and with the sounds of music fading away into the night as they reached the edge of the garden, Théodwyn dug her toe in the ground, ready to strike.

“I have two questions for ye, lass.”

This was not the lead-in that Théodwyn expected, and the hesitant expression which Lord Éomund wore gave her pause. She stilled, and he dropped her arm before crossing his own in front of his chest, rather like a stern schoolmaster.

“Firstly, what _were_  ye doing out that night?”he asked.

Again, she was surprised. “I - I was visiting the stables.”

“Visiting the stables, eh?”

“Yes!” she said, blushing furiously. “My brother has a horse whom I love! I can only visit him at night, for all are forbidden from laying a hand on the beast.”

“Beast?” The Marshal broke into laughter. “Is that why ye aren’t allowed him?”

“Yes again,” Théodwyn said. “He will not be trained. He is a descendent of Shadowfax, whom I am sure you know.”

“I have heard of the great Shadowfax,” Lord Éomund said. “Tell me of your beast.”

“Oh! Well, Théoden has tried to train him, truly, and perhaps were he less busy as king he could give Apple the attention he needs to -”

"Apple?”

“Do stop interrupting! The horse has yet to be named, but I call him Apple. He does like me, if you must know. I am hardly in danger from an unbroken stallion.”

“I see.”

“But this is none of your concern!” Théodwyn argued suddenly, embarrassed that he had made her forget herself. “A question in return - why were  _you_ , son of Éofur, attempting to steal from the king?”

He finally had the courtesy to look bashful. “Why, lass, I only - well, ye must see… I suppose I do owe ye an explanation.”

“I should think so!”

“My younger brother was given the title of Marshal after my pa’s death,” he began after a moment, the torchlight flickering in his features. “Not for his fighting prowess, but because he convinced my pa as he was ailing that I was incompetent. I had a history of strong drink and lassies, ye see.”

Théodwyn only stared, her eyes level and unbetraying.

“Well,” Lord Éomund continued, clearing his throat. “I was no’ as prepared to be Marshal myself as I thought I was. And so Pa appointed Egbert. And within a half-year of Pa’s death, the household éored was completely ruined! No’ to mention the loss of the money that was supposed to pay the soldiers.”

“What happened to it?”

“I am still trying to know,” Lord Éomund sighed. “I canno’ understand why Egbert wanted to make such as arse of himself by trying to play Marshal. He was a fussy clod head if ever there was one - I rarely saw his head out of a book in our youth.”

“And so what happened to Egbert?”

At this the Marshal grinned eerily. “I disposed of him.”

Théodwyn’s mouth fell open. “You mean, you -”

"Nay, I did no’ kill him. I merely showed him the error of his ways and so convinced him to step down - and out.”

This did not quite convince Théodwyn, and she raised her eyebrows, demanding more.

“Very well!” Lord Éomund said. “I thrashed him. And soundly. No one argued my taking his place over breakfast. He was no’ well loved.”

“I am not so sure you answered my question,” Théodwyn said, warning creeping into her voice. “How did you end up thieving from the king?”

“I stole nothing that night, ye know,” he said, obviously not bothered by her scowl. “Apart from a kiss, that is.”

“The question, sir!”

He obliged, though in a way that made Théodwyn feel she had less control over the situation than she thought. “I saw no reason to remain in Aldburg and watch Egbert ruin my family’s fortune and good name. But I could no’ find a place in another éored without his reference - which he refused to give. I needed money, tha’s all.” Lord Éomund now looked sheepish. “It was ye, lass, which brought me around. After your pretty reprimands, I decided to return and take my rightful place; for rightful it is. Egbert is my step-brother, no’ my half-brother. He has no right to be my Pa’s heir.”

The issue remained cloudy in Théodwyn’s mind. “My ‘pretty reprimands’ inspired you to seek your birthright?” she asked in confusion.

“Perhaps no’ your reprimands so much as yer pretty face,” the Marshal said, cheeky once more, which caused her to glower. “Ah - there it is!” he laughed. “If ye must know, I figured I’d have a better chance winning the heart of a princess as a Marshal rather than a skiver.”

“Why, you - !”

“Aye,” Lord Éomund said, laughing heartily. “Ye did more thieving that night than I did, lass, for ye stole my heart.”

Théodwyn felt heat flushing up her neck. “Pretty words,” she said, her voice strangled. “But I do not believe it! Not from a man so experienced with…the 'lassies’.”

“May I ask my second question now?”

“Quickly, for I wish to be rid of this conversation and - and you!”

“May I pay ye court?” the marshal’s voice had taken on a much gentler quality, and while his eyes still twinkled, they shone with a softer light. “I know ye do no’ believe me, but I am truthful when I say that I fell in love with ye that night, and the thought of your fiery eyes determined me to seek my fate.”

Théodwyn’s hand flew to her neck, as if trying to shield herself from such an absurd - yet tender, declaration. He was gazing upon her, and now she thought he seemed adoring. “But - why!” she asked. “Why on earth have I caused such a dramatic reaction from you? Such a thing sounds positively -”

"Ridiculous, I know,” Lord Éomund smiled. “But alas, I could no’ have wished it away e'en if I wanted to. I won’t ask ye to wed me yet, princess; just allow me to romance ye. I can convince ye that we are well-matched.”

Théodwyn found that she did not know what to say to this, nor even what to think. Her first thought was to scream,  _“We would be horribly matched!”_ , but even as she thought it, it did not seem so true. How could she say that weren’t well matched? She hardly knew him at all, it was just as likely that they  _could_  love each other. The second thought that came was that he had chosen her. Of all the 'lassies’ he must have known! He wanted to marry her? She decided to count that as flattering. Théodwyn’s third thought made her stomach flutter, for she had never been courted before, or romanced - unless one counted a few clumsy kisses in her youth and Lord Éomund’s kiss in Meduseld’s kitchen. She felt herself growing red, and she bit her lip.  _Why not?_  “Lord Éomund -” she began.

"Just Éomund, lass.”

“Éomund, then. I do find your proposal highly flattering -”

"But?” he prompted at her hesitation.

“I - I am not so sure I would take well to being courted. I am afraid I’m rather inexperienced with such things. I would not care to disappoint you.”

Éomund beamed. “I would only be disappointed if ye turned me down flat. I’ll teach ye all about loving that I know; the rest we can learn together.” Théodwyn’s knees were feeling a bit weak, and as if knowing her thoughts, Éomund wrapped an arm around her waist keeping her steady. She shivered, feeling the cold all too well now that the heat of her anger had faded. Éomund’s smile faded into something more serious, more…hungry. “First lesson,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’ll teach ye all about kissing.”

There was very little talking after that.


End file.
